


to those who still wander

by teaforest



Series: a song that's meant for two [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Pet Death (mentioned), Gen, Grief/Mourning, Pre-Relationship, depiction of a panic attack, the dogs are more important than Victor okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:03:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8686882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaforest/pseuds/teaforest
Summary: There is more to Yuuri's story of love than the people around him. There are also the remains of what was lost, and the acceptance of what's yet to be gained.(A companion piece to if music be the blood of love.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> "Just write a quick thing about Yuuri mourning Vicchan," I said a month ago. "It'll be easy and simple."
> 
> JOKE'S ON ME AND MY TIMING. This is a horrible thing to post for Yuuri's birthday/in light of Episode 8.

When Yuuri came home from his first Junior Division competition, his parents surprised him with Victor.

 

They didn't name him -- obviously, even if they hadn't been nearly surprised enough at his choice of a foreign name -- but when he'd come home with Minako-sensei he hadn't expected anything more than a big dinner of all his favorites. Minako-sensei laughed when she saw the wriggling ball of fluff worm his way out of the box, a red bow tied to a loose cloth collar that inevitably settled under his chin.

 

"The same color and everything," she crowed, leaning over to scratch behind the puppy's ears.

 

"Victor's is bigger," Yuuri blurted. He immediately went red, and the room erupted in cackling. "I-I mean! I'm not ungrateful, he's very cute! But--!"

 

His mom smiled and pet his hair. Yuuri whined, burying his burning face in the puppy's curls, his cheeks promptly bathed in furious licking. "Really, I hadn't known poodles come in so many sizes! It's for the best if we don't worry too much about a big dog, so this size seemed perfect for Yuuri."

 

Mari scoffed around the lollipop in her mouth. "Maybe now he'll just go running with the dog instead."

 

His dad hummed. "Yes, that's good. Yuuri won't be lonely on his runs anymore."

 

* * *

 

There's no nails clicking as he laces up his running shoes.

 

Yuuri knows better -- he _knows_ \-- but he still waits five minutes at the entrance for the scampering of small paws against the floor, the glitter of deep brown eyes nearly lost in a mess of chocolate curls wide with excitement, the whining he'd have to hush before someone woke up. The longer he sits there, his hands over knotted laces, the more his throat tightens and his heart burns.

 

The early spring breeze feels bitingly cold against his face when he finally leaves, the door sliding shut without a thought. He zips up his coat to his chin, his shoulders numb as he warms up before jogging out the gates. Yuuri isn't a kid anymore, even if he hasn't been here since he was eighteen; he takes the same paths he's run hundreds of times before, paths he still knows like the back of his hand.

 

At least now he can take in the sights of Hasetsu in spring, the cherry blossoms budding and the birds dotting the sky as they return from their winter nesting grounds. It's nice to be back in Japan, back home, despite the sting of defeat and failure.

 

There's no panting next to him, no tags clinking against each other, no occasional bump of a small body against his calves. There's no having to stop to call Vicchan back when he gets overexcited trying to chase down a gull on the bridge, no apologizing to the bemused fishermen when he gives up and just picks Vicchan up to keep running. There's no careless swatting during breaks, sharp little teeth tugging at his laces and indignant grumbling when Vicchan thinks Yuuri isn't going fast enough for his liking.

 

Yuuri's eyes sting, and he squeezes them tight before picking up his pace. His legs squawk at the change but he can take it. He's been through worse.

 

* * *

 

Vicchan was only ten.

 

For a miniature poodle, that wasn't old at all. Maybe a little past his prime, but he had years left in him. _Should_ have had at least another five left, maybe even another ten with how adored he was by everyone who loved Yuuri.

 

But sometimes, the unexpected happened. Sometimes, no matter how much you fought to do everything right, some things just couldn't be predicted. Sometimes, a dog that was perfectly fine one week just... wasn't there the next.

 

The sharp cold of the ice against his cheek rattled him back into reality, and Coach Celestino's loud voice carrying over the rink sounded far more distant than it probably was.

 

"I'm fine," he assured, pushing himself up. He wasn't bleeding, nothing was broken. "Let me try again."

 

Celestino cut himself off mid-rant, narrowing too-green eyes at Yuuri. "Are you sure you're all right? You've been distracted all morning."

 

Yuuri forced himself to breathe, and he managed a smile he knew didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine. I'll do better next time."

 

(He didn't.)

 

* * *

 

An unexpected cold front brings a spring snowfall to Hasetsu.

 

It also brings Vicchan's namesake. Which is equal parts bewildering and mortifying.

 

Victor Nikiforov is as every bit as regal and grand in person as Yuuri's imagination led him to believe. Victor Nikiforov is also... oddly childlike when wearing the inn's robes, despite how much taller he is than their usual guests.

 

Considering how their first and last meeting (if he could even call it that) went, Yuuri still isn't quite sure why Victor is here in Japan, in his family's inn, his bold declaration about how he's going to coach Yuuri aside. That's certainly information that could've been handled over a phone call, or an email, or something. At least a chance for Yuuri to get his thoughts in order?

 

Apparently not. But if his idol, the one person he wants more than anyone to see and acknowledge him, is willing to work with him, who is Yuuri to say no?

 

Victor's dog -- a standard poodle, gray speckling the chocolate brown of his coat -- mildly lays at Victor's side as he eats. His tail thumps against the tatami, slow and steady, and his soft snores barely rattle the hem of Victor's robes. He's calmer than Victor, both the man and Yuuri's dog. It's probably his age. He's at least thirteen, old and mellow when at rest but plenty of vigor left in his bones.

 

Yuuri doesn't see Mari bring the bowl. He only sees Victor's dog lift his head, floppy ears pricking to attention and his tail increasing tempo as he shifts into a proper sit. He hears her laugh quietly and a set of tags clinking gently against ceramic before it hits him, and his stomach bottoms out as she straightens and walks back out to the main hall to start bringing in Victor's luggage.

 

"He's got manners," he hears Mari mumble under her breath as she leaves. "Glad for that much."

 

Victor's dog eats quickly, raising his nose from the bowl as he crunches down on what he's been given. He doesn't seem phased by the change of scenery or the different food or the strange bowl, making Yuuri wonder if Victor's dog is as worldly as the man himself. He finishes well before Victor, and licks the bowl clean before nudging it away and laying back down with a content huff.

 

Yuuri looks away. He wonders if a door's been left open, because his shoulders feel far too cold.

 

"Maccachin."

 

Yuuri blinks, looking up. Victor smiles, chin pillowed in the lazy palm of his free hand, and points his chopsticks down at his side. "His name is Maccachin," he repeats. "He is a bit of a big dog, but I promise he's well behaved."

 

Startled (and more than a little flustered, if he's honest) Yuuri raises his hands in a placating gesture. "N-no! It's fine! He's a good dog, very friendly! I just…"

 

His dad interrupts him with a laugh. "Yes, very friendly! Knocked Yuuri right over when he came out earlier."

 

Yuuri feels his face heat up as Victor blinks and looks down at his currently very mellow dog. "Really?" He gently taps the length of his dog's muzzle, fond amusement dancing in his eyes. "Maccachin, that's rude. Don't go scaring off Yuuri before we get to really know him!"

 

Victor's dog only yawns in response.

 

* * *

 

Vicchan always managed to wriggle his way into Yuuri's bed, whether he liked it or not.

 

Despite his family's amused disbelief, Yuuri had in fact genuinely _tried_ to make Vicchan sleep in his dog bed, the plush fabric and pillow cozy right at his bedside anyway if the puppy started crying in the middle of the night. Somehow, though, Yuuri had forgotten how smart poodles were that first night. Vicchan made sure Yuuri never forgot that by making a running leap for a loose quilt and, more or less, scaling it onto his bed in the five minutes he disappeared to go brush his teeth.

 

Yuuri found him as he pulled away the sheets. After a light scolding and putting him back on the floor, Yuuri went to turn off the lights. When he turned back around, Vicchan was _again_ halfway up the bedframe.

 

" _No_ , Vicchan," Yuuri huffed, grabbing the puppy off the quilt. "Dogs sleep in dog beds. I don't want you to get squished if I roll over or something."

 

Vicchan whined, dark brown eyes wide with what looked like betrayal. Yuuri felt his resolve weaken.

 

"…Maybe just for tonight," he conceded, holding Vicchan to his chest. He received a flurry of licks for that, and as he made a nest of blankets and settled into bed, he told himself it was purely to avoid a night of wailing. He'd be stricter in the future, but he wasn't going to be cruel.

 

"It's just for tonight," became a near nightly mantra. School nights he reasoned he was just too tired between practice and homework to fight with Vicchan. Holidays he reasoned that it kept Vicchan from being underfoot when the inn had guests who weren't as fond of small dogs. Occasionally it was for the sole purpose of keeping Vicchan from getting too curious about his namesake's posters starting to dip a little below Yuuri's eye level, due to lack of wall space.

 

Occasionally, Yuuri dropped the pretense and just let Vicchan nestle in against his breastbone because his dog was warm and soft, an anchor on nights his mind raced with too many thoughts that would otherwise leave him sleepless. Yuuri wasn't afraid of Vicchan thinking less of him for the tears that would sometimes escape, instead licking at them as they rolled down his cheek. Yuuri didn't have to pretend to be strong for a dog, much less a dog who loved him like Yuuri was his whole world.

 

His last night in Hasetsu, he fell asleep with Vicchan's nose pressed into his neck, soft chocolate brown curls tickling his nose and a chest more sore from heartache than the seven kilos of fluffy dog pressed as close to him as both of them could get.

 

"I'll come back soon," Yuuri mumbled into Vicchan's coat, ignoring the sting in his eyes. "When I finish training and place in the Grand Prix, I'll come back home. So be good until then, okay?"

 

* * *

 

Yuuri saves himself that first night, fueled by pure mortification at the thought of Victor-the-man either seeing or finding all his posters. However, Victor-the-man has both human intellect and opposable thumbs.

 

"Yuuri," greets him first thing the next morning, low and smooth and _nope this has to be a dream_. "Time to get up, Yuuri. We have a lot to assess for our first day!"

 

The ends of Victor's fringe just barely graze Yuuri's cheek and his heart nearly catapults out of his ribcage. He barely swallows down the squeak as he scrambles back into the wall. From his position squatting at Yuuri's bedside, Victor's eyes are all but bubbling with something light and eager.

 

"Good morning," he says, like he didn't invite himself into Yuuri's room instead of just waiting in the common area.

 

"G-good morning," Yuuri manages to return. Barely.

 

Victor beams at him and hands him his glasses, long fingers cradling the frame to avoid smudging the lenses. "Well, now that you're awake, get ready. We're leaving in an hour."

 

Yuuri stares as Victor stands and makes his way out. In the doorframe, Yuuri can make out the blur of large brown that must be Victor's dog. At least one of them has some propriety, he thinks dismally. He can only hope Victor hasn't been snooping around before trying to wake him. The posters are only so safe in the closet…

 

Victor pauses just before he steps out the door. Yuuri blinks, glasses half on, and feels his heart slam against his ribcage again.

 

" _Yuu_ ~ri," Victor coos, looking over his shoulder, glacier blue eyes alight and the deep Cupid's bow of his lips curling his grin into something that has no right to look as cute (Victor Nikiforov, _cute_ , as if!) as it does. "I'm honored to have a place on your desk."

 

Yuuri doesn't think he's ever scrambled out of bed so fast in his life. Victor side-steps him all too elegantly as he picks up the framed postcard Yuuri _stupidly_ forgot about in his rush last night. "W-wait! Please, I can explain--!"

 

"We're going to have to replace this, though," Victor huffs. Yuuri's stomach twists before Victor continues blithely, "Something far more personal would be much nicer. I still owe you a photo, after all!"

 

That makes Yuuri freeze. He doesn't remember too much from that night of the Grand Prix Finals last December, as lost in his own head as he was, but he does remember the knife of shame and disappointment, sharp and serrated between his shoulder blades, making him turn and walk away when Victor looked his way.

 

The teasing light in Victor's eyes dims as he stares at Yuuri, features softening into a warm, charming smile. "Well, that's something to worry about later." Yuuri blinks as Victor gently replaces the frame on the desk and claps his hands. "For now, get ready! I want you downstairs in ten minutes, or I'm making you run the whole way to the rink!"

 

"Yes sir," Yuuri manages as Victor all but glides out of the room. His dog turns to follow, but pauses to look back at Yuuri and give a deep chuff before bounding away.

 

For a brief moment, as he pulls his quilt back into place and grabs his bag, Yuuri considers tucking the frame into a drawer to prevent this from happening again. There'd be no point to it though, would it? The damage, however little it turned out, is already done. Victor knows now that Yuuri holds him in high esteem, if not the actual depth of that idolatry. Considering that Victor remembers Yuuri turning down a photograph with him months ago, it might even upset him that Yuuri can't be at least a little honest with him.

 

Victor is sacrificing a lot for Yuuri, with his offer to coach him to the Grand Prix's gold. Surely, Yuuri can afford to allow Victor that much trust, right?

 

(Victor still makes him run all the way to Ice Castle Hasetsu. Something about refusing to go easy on "such a big fan" of his.

 

As much as it should bother him, Yuuri instead finds himself oddly nostalgic.)

 

* * *

 

"What the hell were you thinking?" Nishigori snapped at Yuuri, dropping a towel on his head. Yuuri let it drape, shoulders slumped as he cradled a still shivering Vicchan in his arms. "If I hadn't been here, that punk could've really hurt you over that damn dog!"

 

Yuuri looked up at Nishigori, petulant. "It wasn't Vicchan's fault!" he insisted. "Even if he did jump on that guy, he's too small to do anything! And who does that anyway?"

 

"That" being "dumping a can of (thankfully) cold coffee on said dog and yelling at it". Yuuri wasn't a brave person, but when he'd heard Vicchan cry out he'd been out the door like a shot, heart seizing in his chest that he might be too late. An armful of sticky wet dog and Nishigori charging after him to scare off the punk responsible later, they were back inside Ice Castle's lobby to mitigate the damage.

 

Yuuri pulled the towel from his head and started to rub Vicchan dry, aware he'd have to bathe him when they got home anyways but not caring. He almost missed Nishigori's groan and grumble about stubborn brats, but he didn't miss the stern look Nishigori gave him as he said, louder, "One day, Yuuri, you're going to get yourself in a lot of trouble and I'm not going to be there to bail you out."

 

"I know." Of course Yuuri did. Did Nishigori really think Yuuri hadn't already dealt with people like that when he was away for competitions or even at school? He knew how to lay low when it was necessary, thanks. "But it's Vicchan. He needed me. How could I just do nothing about it?"

 

"Just…!" Nishigori groaned, loud, and rubbed his temples. "Just stay out of trouble, Yuuri. Got it? Yuu-chan would kill me if anything happened to you." It might've been the cold, but there looked like there was the faintest traces of pink on the tips of Nishigori's ears and nose. "Hasetsu's got its hopes riding on you, after all. You're gonna make it big, and you can't do that if some punk decides to smash your face in because you were protecting your dog."

 

Yuuri blinked, feeling his own cheeks flush in bewilderment as he stopped rubbing Vicchan down and balked at Nishigori. "You…" he managed, "you really think that?"

 

Nishigori scoffed and slapped his hand into Yuuri's hair, ruffling it and ignoring Yuuri's startled squawk. "With all the work you put in, I'd rather Yuu-chan gush about you over some foreigner with a pretty face." He paused, grin widening as Yuuri's blush deepened. "Even if you're probably worse than she is."

 

Yuuri wondered if this was how it felt to die of embarrassment. "Nishigori!"

 

"Seriously, though, what do you two see in him?" Nishigori laughed, grin turning wicked. "Ooh, _Victor~_! He's the _best_ ~!"

 

Yuuri whined and buried his face in Vicchan's coffee-scented curls, wanting nothing more than to just get this day over with. "Please, stooop!"

 

* * *

 

Yuuri wakes up to something too warm and too heavy on his chest.

 

The only light that filters through the window are flashes of lightning, and thunder rumbles in the dark night sky outside. Yuuri tries not to groan. He does not remember Hasetsu's weather being so volatile when he was a kid.

 

Lightning flashes again, briefly illuminating the room, and Yuuri sees what the dead weight on him is as it lurches and whines, quivering and burying a long nose deeper into his blankets and shirt. An _uncomfortably cold_ and _damp_ nose jabs him between the ribs.

 

Yuuri balks. Tries to turn his head towards his door, as best as he can manage with thirty kilos of _Victor's dog_ on him. Sure enough, the door is cracked open, just wide enough for Maccachin to slip through. How, Yuuri has no idea, but it's too late and he's too tired to care about the details right now.

 

"Maccachin," Yuuri groans, reaching to rub at his eyes. "Go back to Victor. Please."

 

Maccachin decidedly doesn't budge. If anything, he buries himself even deeper. It's not very comfortable, compared to when Vicchan did it, but Vicchan weighed a fraction of what Maccachin does and took up considerably less space. How does Victor manage to sleep with a dog this big?

 

"Maccachin," Yuuri tries again. This time, at least, he feels the poodle's ears twitch. "You're heavy. Get off me."

 

He feels Maccachin sigh against him and relax, but it only makes him slip off so his whole weight isn't on Yuuri. A minor relief, but it still doesn't change the fact he still has half a hairy, large dog sprawled on top of him and burning like a furnace when Yuuri's already sweating between the humidity of late spring and the storm outside.

 

Is it the storm? Yuuri's sure Russia has thunderstorms, even if they're not as frequent as they can be here. It can't be Victor, because if the man hasn't come in looking for his dog then he's fast asleep and not even aware of what's going on. And why _Yuuri's_ room, if Maccachin is only looking to hide from the storm? His bed's both smaller and lower to the ground than Victor's, not to mention that his bed's directly under a window anyway.

 

He grumbles and tries to shift to his side, tugging at the blanket to cover his head and prevent the lightning from disturbing his sleep. Maccachin grumbles back and crawls right up against Yuuri's spine, nose now pressed right next to his neck. It tickles, but it's a sensation that makes that old ache burn in his chest. He buries his face deeper into his pillow and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will himself to sleep once more.

 

"Fine," Yuuri sighs. It's too late to argue, and he's pretty sure if he tries to get up and drag Maccachin out he's just going to flat-out lose his bed. "Just for tonight."

 

(You'd think he'd have learned his lesson by now.)

 

* * *

 

" _Yuuri_ ," his mother said after their initial greetings, voice soft and careful. " _We all miss you dearly, but I think Vicchan misses you most. Are you sure you still can't make a visit for New Years?_ "

 

Yuuri sighed, the cold that struck his chest at her first words melting and leaving behind guilty relief. "Mom," he groaned, pushing up his glasses to rub at his eyes. Spread out before him were three different textbooks and a thick spiral-bound notebook, too many pens, a mechanical pencil he really needed a needle or something to unjam. Didn't he have a paperclip somewhere? "I told you, it's the middle of the season. I'd love to, but with how much schoolwork I have to make up and training it's just not possible."

 

He heard a click behind him and tried not to grimace. Phichit, draped over the edge of his bunk, snickered and hummed something in Yuuri could only assume was his native Thai. Three years his junior and that many times more bubbly and bold, Yuuri wasn't exactly sure why his coach was so certain Yuuri was capable of showing him the ropes to adapting to America, much less Detroit. Especially since Phichit decidedly _did not care_ that his English was less than stellar and invited himself into all sorts of conversations and activities Yuuri normally balked at, but. Well. Responsibility for someone younger than him was a thing now.

 

His mother tutted at him. " _Yuuri, it's not the same only seeing you on TV! We're very proud of you, don't think we aren't, but we miss having you with us._ "

 

"I know," Yuuri said, sighing. "I didn't make the cut for the Grand Prix this year but I still have the Four Continents and Nationals ahead of me. I have to stay focused." _I'm so close_ , was what he really thought. Even if he wasn't ready by next year, it still felt like the Grand Prix was in reach. Slow and steady, that was the safest way to make it onto the same stage as Victor.

 

Of course he didn't like the sacrifices he had to make. It wasn't easy, being away from his childhood home and his family for now going on three years. It definitely wasn't easy, relearning how to sleep without Vicchan. Yuuri still wasn't sure how much his coaches caught on, the way he dragged a heavy buckwheat pillow with him whenever there were overnight stays. Or the white noise app he'd downloaded. Or the moments of weakness he had when he slipped into shelters and pet stores, just for those familiar sights, smells, and sounds he sometimes feared he'd wake up one morning and forget.

 

(He tried not to waste the workers' time, at least looking for something to send home for Vicchan. Mostly treats, sometimes a toy or a cute collar accessory though most were just bows. Mari and his parents always sent pictures back of Vicchan parked right in the middle of Yuuri's gifts, clueless but delighted at the spread.)

 

" _If that's what has to be done,_ " his mother sighed, disappointment audible. Yuuri felt himself wilt. " _Poor Vicchan, he still gets upset when I air out your room. You'll send more old clothes for him, won't you?_ "

 

"Of course," Yuuri agreed. His nose burned. Hah, three years and Detroit winters still stung at his sinuses. "I've worn out a few shirts. I can send them in a few days."

 

" _Good, good!_ " There was a gasp and she added, an obvious smile in her voice, " _Vicchan, come say 'good luck Yuuri'!_ "

 

Yuuri had to bite back a laugh as the phone rustled and the clinking of tags could be heard through the receiver, a soft huff of a whine and a rustling of cloth and fur. "Thank you, Vicchan." Whimpering echoed through the phone; Yuuri's heart ached at the sound. "I love you. I'll see you soon, I promise."

 

The call ended with his mother's last goodbyes and Yuuri's own assurances that he'd try to find time. He looked at his phone, the home screen the latest shot of Vicchan with one of the bows Yuuri sent clipped to his collar, sitting primly at the entrance to the inn like some kind of concierge service. It would be more believable if his tail weren't blurred, wagging too fast for a phone camera to catch a proper still.

 

He needed to practice. Make his routines pure muscle memory so that his nerves wouldn't completely kill his chances. The rink would be closed by now, though, and he still had literature to power through. He glanced warily at the thick textbooks. Definitely too much literature to power through.

 

Phichit broke the silence with a curious, "Daisuki?"

 

Yuuri felt his shoulders jerk, but he kept in his seat. A flush crept onto his face, a trace of embarrassment despite knowing Phichit didn't know more than a handful of words in Japanese. "Yeah." He tapped his chin, considering how to best explain. "It's… more or less 'love' like in English. You love your favorite food. You love what you do. You can also love a person. Does that make sense?"

 

"Yes," Phichit said, crossing his legs and looking down at Yuuri with bright eyes. "So you love 'Vicchan'. Your dog, or Victor Nikiforov?"

 

The blue pen Yuuri had been using for vocab notes clattered to the desk, leaving a streak of color on its surface. He turned to Phichit with what felt like horror but must have looked like the funniest thing in the world because Phichit snorted and collapsed against his bunk in a fit of barely smothered giggles.

 

Oh, _what the hell_.

 

"How would you know what _Vicchan_ means?!"

 

Phichit grinned, wide and bright, and gestured to the one poster Yuuri'd allowed himself overseas. That may have a few magazine clippings tacked to it. Maybe. "Yuuri, you are very obvious!"

 

* * *

 

"Maccachin, _no_."

 

Yuuri blinks, slowing his steps as he passes by the garden, the supplies his mother ordered in his hands. Peering in, he sees Victor kneeling next to a slouched Maccachin, ears pinned back and whining low.

 

Victor talks low to Maccachin, and to Yuuri's ears it sounds oddly gruff, considering how sweetly Victor's always talked even when he's annoyed. Maccachin remains unphased, eyeing Victor's hand just beyond his nose.

 

"Victor?" Yuuri asks, wary. Victor blinks, glancing over his shoulder. "Is everything all right?"

 

Victor's face melts into an easy smile, though he shoots Maccachin an annoyed glance. "Don't worry. Maccachin's just being greedy with some toy he found under the porch."

 

Maccachin uses Victor's distraction to try and pull the toy free from Victor's grip, but a single raised eyebrow stops him in his tracks. Still, Maccachin doesn't give up and keeps his grip on the toy firm.

 

Yuuri's stomach lurches, though much less than months ago. "A-ah. Is that so?"

 

The toy stuck in Victor and Maccachin's tug-of-war is Vicchan's ninja doll. Well, actually, it's one of Yuuri's gifts from his junior days, when people saw he was from Hasetsu but knew little about it besides the false castle, but Vicchan decided it was his and that was that. Its condition makes it obvious, considering how often Vicchan, barely big enough to carry it, ended up dragging it through the halls by a leg or arm. Dirt stains the fabric, once a bright blue and now faded with neglect and age. Why it was under the porch, Yuuri doesn't know, but Vicchan always had a habit of squirreling away things so no one would take them from him.

 

"Yuuri?"

 

He jolts, jerking back at the furrow knitting Victor's brows together and the downturn of his lips, not quite a frown but definitely not a smile. It looks… well, weird on someone like Victor. Yuuri's so used to seeing him at ease and poised that this… uncertainty? makes something in him ache.

 

"It's nothing," Yuuri says, forcing a smile. Victor blinks at him, and Yuuri takes the opportunity to press forward and add, "You can throw that out, if you don't want Maccachin getting into it. I don't think anyone's going to miss it."

 

Victor frowns. Properly frowns this time, the confusion in his eyes swirling. "Are you sure?"

 

"It's not a big deal." It's not. "Someone would have asked for it by now, if it were." There isn't anyone, and Yuuri hadn't wanted to know. "Well, my mom's waiting for these, so I better get them to her. Feel free to throw that out when Maccachin finally lets it go."

 

He forces himself to walk past the pair without looking back. He ignores Victor's last attempt to talk to him, feeling queasy and unsettled and wanting nothing more than to grab his skates and head for Ice Castle, but today's a rest day and Victor's gotten both Yuuko and Nishigori to make sure Yuuri doesn't run himself ragged after learning the hard way that Yuuri will do just that if he's stressed enough.

 

His eyes sting. Well, it's still spring. It's probably allergies.

 

* * *

 

His laptop screen flickered as he heard Minako struggle with the webcam on her end, and Yuuri chanced a glance up to make sure that no one would be trying to drag him off for celebrations again. He'd paid his dues. He'd earned his privacy for the night.

 

Finally, the screen filled with the face of his old ballet teacher, backed by the bright mirrors and open space of her ballet studio despite the early morning hour. In her lap, practically bouncing at the screen, was Vicchan, a little whiter at the muzzle but wriggling and whining at Yuuri's image on Minako's laptop.

 

" _Yuuri~!_ " Minako greeted, fingers curled around Vicchan's chest to keep him in her lap and off her keyboard. Even with the fuzzy quality of the image, Yuuri could see the tears dewing her eyes. " _You did it! You're going to the Grand Prix Finals on your first bid!_ "

 

"Thank you, Minako-sensei," Yuuri said, feeling his own eyes dew up again. "But, um, why is Vicchan with you?"

 

Minako sniffed. " _I watch all your performances with him. He gets me on a spiritual level._ " She continued, unphased, " _You know how busy your parents get, and he needs to see you at least on TV!_ "

 

Vicchan whined, trying to paw at the screen, and he hit something on Minako's end. Probably the track pad, considering how Minako hissed and pulled him back, grumbling about overexcited old puppies. Yuuri laughed, pressing a hand to his mouth.

 

"Thank you so much," he repeated. "For everything. Even taking care of Vicchan so my parents don't worry about him."

 

" _It's nothing!_ " she insisted, grin wide. " _Look at you, 'Japan's Ace'! Right up there at the top of the world, all from your hard work and determination paid off!_ "

 

Yuuri felt his stomach churn. "I haven't won anything yet, Minako-sensei…"

 

" _Oh, stop that,_ " she huffed. " _You can praise yourself a little bit, Yuuri. No matter what happens, you're one of the top six figure skaters in the_ world _right now. That's not an easy accomplishment and you know it!_ "

 

Yuuri still didn't necessarily think that put him nearly on the same level as some of the people he'd competed against -- Christophe, as always, managed slow and steady far better than Yuuri did, and Cao had a good lead on him, let alone trying to compare himself to Victor. Even so, just the fact he now had the chance…

 

A howl startled him out of his thoughts. Vicchan, as if sensing his distress, was up against the screen, filling it up with his mess of chocolate brown curls and wide, soulful eyes. Despite Minako's bitten back swears for his dog to not lick her screen, Yuuri laughed and leaned forward himself, as close as he could without blocking his face.

 

"I know, I know," he cooed, trying to hold back tears. "I miss you too, Vicchan. It's just a little longer, I swear."

 

Minako perked up. " _Wait, you're coming home?_ "

 

Yuuri swallowed. "At the end of the season, for sure. My coach has been trying to get me to take a break, but I don't trust myself around Japanese food right now…" He _really_ missed good Japanese food. Detroit lacked in that department by a lot.

 

" _Yuuri, that's amazing!_ " Minako cheered, letting go of Vicchan once more to pump her fists in the air. " _We'll get to congratulate you in person! Ooh, the Worlds are in Yoyogi this year, aren't they? Are you aiming for that, too?!_ "

 

"I have a good chance if I do well at the Finals," Yuuri mumbled, lower. Minako still shrieked.

 

He let her babble, since it allowed Vicchan to keep close to the camera and paw and lick at his image. He lifted his fingers to his camera, and Vicchan immediately went to nosing those like he always did when Yuuri still lived at home. His heart swelled at the sight; even though he couldn't feel it or any of Vicchan's warmth and softness, it was so nice being able to see and hear him again.

 

"Just a little longer, Vicchan," Yuuri promised, voice low so Minako wouldn't hear, smiling at his dog through the screen and chuckling when Vicchan licked at him again. "This time, I'll be home for New Years. So just wait for me a little bit longer. I'll be able to tell you all about him then."

 

* * *

 

Maccachin bunks in Yuuri's room for the third time in a week, and that is apparently the last straw.

 

Yuuri barely has his shirt pulled over his head when Victor barges into his room, the placid smile Yuuri's learned means bad things painted cleanly on his face and his robes loose across his shoulders, not even tied at the waist this time. Yuuri wants to blame the humidity. In actuality, he's pretty sure that the constant fluctuation of nudity is just a quirk of Victor's he never considered back when Victor was still some far-off ideal instead of the man down the hall and his coach. There's another explanation, of course, given how often it happens _solely_ around Yuuri, but he's made a point to ignore that.

 

(So much for his childhood fantasies. Victor may be charming, but he is the _antithesis_ of subtle.)

 

"Yuu~ri," Victor sings, which honestly is more terrifying than it probably should be. "We need to discuss some ideas before your music comes in, so let's sleep together tonight!"

 

"No!" It's more habit than bewilderment at this point, but the fact still stands that Yuuri's a little taken aback at how _shameless_ Victor is about this subject. "Can't we discuss it in the morning? We're going to be practicing anyway, so--!"

 

Maccachin looks up from his spot against the wall on Yuuri's bed, huffs at Victor, and rolls onto his back. He stretches his legs up in the air, toes spreading and a wide yawn, before relaxing back into Yuuri's blanket.

 

Victor's smile twitches and he reaches for Yuuri. His palm is hot against the skin of Yuuri's wrist, and though his long fingers are gentle they feel like a brand and a vice. He tugs and leads him out of the room, despite Yuuri's squawked protests.

 

"Why does Maccachin keep going to bed with you?" he whines when they're out in the hall, turning to Yuuri with something almost like a pout on his lips. "I can understand doing it now and then, but every few days?"

 

"Don't look at me!" Yuuri insists, face burning, "I don't know why he does it! I've tried making him go back, but he's mostly legs and fur! I can't get a good grip on him to shoo out!"

 

Victor sighs. "He _is_ dedicated to his sleeping spots." He hums, but shrugs and keeps walking down the hall, grip still firm on Yuuri's wrist. Yuuri has no choice but to follow. "Come along, then. We can solve both our problems if we do this right."

 

"Do what right?" Yuuri's a little afraid to ask, but Victor's fingertips against his pulse are more worrisome. He knows damn well Victor feels it skyrocket when they turn into Victor's room. "Wha-- no. Victor!"

 

Victor turns back to him with a blithe smile, finally letting go of Yuuri's wrist. "Only until Maccachin gets lonely and comes back here, I promise. He likes to cuddle more than I do, so it won't be more than an hour."

 

If it weren't for the fact Victor's been getting huffy about Maccachin's absence, Yuuri would think he's doing this on purpose. But he has been oddly quiet these past few days, watching as Maccachin trails after Yuuri and wriggles himself between him and Victor every chance he gets. Honestly, Yuuri's not sure if Victor's more jealous of him or his own dog.

 

…And what is Yuuri's life now, that he can even think something like that and barely bat an eye?

 

Victor takes his silence as hesitation, and his face softens. That only makes Yuuri more tense, the flutters of _something_ stirring he's been finding harder and harder to stamp down. "I'm serious, Yuuri. We can just talk. I won't ask for anything you're not willing to give."

 

He drops down onto his bed, pats the other side with a heartful grin. Yuuri sighs, eyes flicking back to the door and wondering if the embarrassment is worth it. It's not like he _dislikes_ spending time with Victor, it's all he's ever wanted! It's just…

 

Victor glances down and readjusts his robe so it's properly covering his chest. He laughs quietly when Yuuri unwittingly breathes a sigh of relief. Yuuri doesn't blame him. They've literally bathed together for as long as they've been in this arrangement, Yuuri has seen _plenty more_ than Victor's bare chest regardless of if he's been looking or not, and yet he's still like this.

 

Then again, Yuuri thinks wearily as he lowers himself next to Victor, there's less risk of falling asleep next to a handsome naked man in the hot springs. A handsome naked man _prone to cuddling_. Mari is still giving him suspicious looks after the scene a few weeks ago, and _that_ had just been Victor getting overenthusiastic about positioning.

 

"So," Victor begins, turning to face Yuuri with warm eyes. "About your elements."

 

Yuuri feels himself relax, even if just to give Victor an incredulous, amused smile. "Really? We're still going to talk about that here?"

 

"It's important," Victor says, indulgent even as his eyes twinkle. "And you're the one who still wants three quad types, which I can't believe I had to talk you down from."

 

"Every little bit helps," Yuuri insists, sinking further into the pillow. Victor laughs again, shaking his head. "What?"

 

"Nothing," Victor hums, smiling like he's privy to some joke that's going over Yuuri's head. "Anyway, Yuuri, we should still play to your strengths, too. If we can play around with more step sequences…"

 

* * *

 

Exhaustion clung to Yuuri like an old friend, dread cold and heavy on his shoulders and shame in his gut.

 

He knew Celestino was worried, had been looking at him with furrowed brows since his fall during practice the other day. He knew Morooka, who'd followed Yuuri on this journey to the Grand Prix Finals, was trying to reach out to him, hoping for some kind of conviction to make up for the past two days' subpar performances. He knew his family and friends, back home in Hasetsu, were insistent that no matter what, they were proud of him for getting this far to begin with.

 

The thought of home should have relieved some of the ache, but instead he wanted nothing to do with it. He wanted to be alone, he wanted to just walk out the door into the cold and dark of the winter night and never come back.

 

Nerves were one thing; Yuuri was used to their presence, used to wanting nothing more than to cast them off by losing himself in the music and movements, even if just for a few minutes. Used to the relief as soon as the cameras and reporters abandoned him for someone who didn't look at them like a marionette waiting for commands. Used to being self-conscious, used to being overlooked even in the one thing he had some skill in. He was fine with that.

 

What an idiot he was. Here he was, after all the sacrifices and hours upon days of blood, sweat, and tears -- all for nothing, because he couldn't stop repeating that conversation in his head.

 

A woman was outside, long hair loose and dusted in snow. Yuuri's eyes were drawn to the small creature buried in the folds of her coat, a small black button nose buried in the crook of her elbow to keep it warm and vividly chocolate curls bright under the LED displays glowing outside.

 

(He'd only just started going gray at the muzzle. Just a little speckling of white around his nose like a halo. His dad's last picture before everything fell apart had been teasing Yuuri about that, that the separation was turning the poor thing into an old man. Yuuri, win or lose today, was supposed to be taking a plane to Fukuoka to spend the rest of his winter break back home, because no matter what his being here was proof he'd paid back everyone's sacrifices in full and he viscerally _missed_ his quiet, warm home and everyone he had to leave behind.

 

How could he now? How could he try to go home, knowing how much he spat in everyone's faces with his poor performance, knowing he hadn't even been there when Vic--)

 

"Yuuri."

 

Yuuri's heart seized, only just now aware of the burn in his eyes and the tremor in his breath. Immediately his eyes tracked the crowd, catching the platinum-blond hair and sharp jawline he knew far too well for someone who'd never had an actual conversation with the man. _Yuri_ , Victor Nikiforov meant, because why would he even acknowledge someone like Yuuri? Yuuri hadn't done this badly since he was a middle schooler, still trying to figure out how to put enough force in his kick-offs to make triples and dreaming of quads, still looking at the posters gathering on his walls in hopes the man himself would someday look his way and _see_ him, maybe even say--

 

Victor Nikiforov caught his stare and smiled, polite (no.) and kind ( _no_.), and said, in the same gentle voice he used for interviews ( _no no nonono--_ ), "Would you like a commemorative photo?"

 

…That was all he'd ever have of Victor, wasn't it?

 

Victor Nikiforov was a living legend, so high above his competition that he apparently didn't even remember Yuuri's name or face. It'd be easier if Victor was rude or haughty about it, _something_ to disenchant Yuuri's many past fantasies of how this moment would culminate, but no. Even now, even at the cruelest Victor's ever been, he was nothing but charming, hand extended in a simple offer he'd probably given a thousand times over. Just a picture with him for his troubles, a dumb consolation prize to keep on his wall with the rest of Victor's memorabilia.

 

And what was worse, the photo album in his phone, more than three hundred shots of _his_ Victor -- the one his family had to cremate without him, who Yuuri's last picture of was the shrine they'd made for him in one of the family's private rooms in the inn, asking him if it was okay -- were all that remained of him. Yuuri could never see him again, would never hear his surprisingly deep bark or soft snores in his ear. Would never wake up to his warm weight on his chest, or share treats from stalls with. Vicchan was gone, dead in a matter of days from a heart condition no one even knew he had.

 

Yuuri had lost Victor -- both his idol and his beloved dog -- in one fell swoop, and all he had left were _pictures_.

 

What else could he do, but the only other thing he was good at: turning tail and running like the coward he was?

 

* * *

 

Soft, fragrant powder and the smoothness of Victor's cologne fills Yuuri's nose. He blinks, stunned, and his eyes burn. He tries to breathe, gets the taste of something damp and salty when he wets his lips. They're dry, so very dry, why is he breathing out from his mouth--

 

Low whimpers, a weight in his lap that's much heavier than Yuuri's used to. Maccachin, not Vicchan. It hasn't been Vicchan in years. Still, though the curls are laced in grays and whites, they're soft and familiar in their own way. Yuuri squeezes and releases his fist in them, careful not to pull. His hands shake. He can feel Maccachin's heartbeat, if he presses his knuckle down to the skin.

 

Ah. His eyes are burning again. He's really stuffed up, he can barely breathe without stuttering. Maybe because it's Maccachin. He's so much bigger than Vicchan, after all.

 

It's odd, though. Victor's cologne doesn't usually smell this strong on Maccachin, if Yuuri can smell it even through his messy tears. Why--

 

"…Yuuri?"

 

He practically jumps out of his skin at Victor's voice, far too close, and whips his head around. As his eyes focus, he sees why: the width of the walls, the double doors just barely cracked open, the modern loveseats that look ridiculously out of place in a Japanese banquet hall--

 

Oh god.

 

Shame floods Yuuri's face, scalding hot and sticky with tears and snot. Did he--? And Victor just--?

 

Victor sits up in bed, watching him with a look Yuuri doesn't want to decipher. He drops his eyes back down to his lap, to Maccachin's sweet and nonjudgmental stare.

 

There's a moment of unease where Yuuri can see Victor's hand clench around the blanket between them from the corner of his eye, and he prays that Victor doesn't try to reach for him. Yuuri feels the tugs at his seams, he knows he either has to pull himself together fast or leave before he bursts. He won't do that in front of Victor. He _can't_.

 

What was the song? The song a junior division coach had him use to count his breaths, to try and help him with his nerves for the lyrics alone even if his English at the time had been too simple to understand everything. All he remembers is the tempo: seventy beats per minute, hold for four and release for four.

 

Hold. Release. Hold. Release.

 

He thinks he hears Victor start murmuring something, but Yuuri can't be bothered to listen right now. He has to focus. If he can't focus, he's going to crash and burn and Yuuri's not even at a competition right now, why the hell is he freaking out so much over _nothing_ \--

 

Maccachin growls.

 

It's enough to startle Yuuri out of his feedback loop, drawing back as the poodle, draped firmly over Yuuri's lap, looks beyond him and at--

 

Yuuri feels his stomach bottom out and heart lurch at the stunned, hurt look on Victor's face, a hand extended towards Yuuri he's slowly pulling away. This isn't right. Maccachin is _Victor's_ dog, not Yuuri's. Why would Maccachin even think about guarding Yuuri from him? Even if he doesn't want to be touched right now, even if he doesn't think he can handle whatever Victor's idea of comfort is, it's not fair to Victor at all.

 

"I should go." Yuuri doesn't even recognize his own voice, but he knows it has to be him. He thinks he hears Victor start, and if that doesn't make the lead in his veins feel heavier.

 

"Yuuri--"

 

Yuuri is an expert by now at avoiding conflict he doesn't want. He slips out from under Maccachin, breezes across the room to the open doors before Victor can try to stop him.

 

"Good night, Victor." And with that, he's out the door. His own will be shut tight tonight, a weight against it to prevent Maccachin from slipping back in with him.

 

He'll apologize in the morning, before practice, when he has a better handle on himself.

 

He has to.

 

* * *

 

The scratches in the floor hadn't been fixed, the marring in the wood still evident if someone looked hard enough. There was a bag of unopened treats on the counter where his dad kept an eye on customers, a label of 'use to tip the dog' scribbled on its surface in marker. A leash was still tucked behind the shoe shelf, a set of small black bags tied to its wrist loop. A handful of bows close enough in design and color to match were strung up just inside the kitchen, a touch of cuteness to the practicality.

 

As Yuuri entered the more private areas of the inn, ones exclusive to his family and close friends, other things became noticeable. A small ball, back against the wall under a bookshelf. A coffee-stained towel, torn into rags, in the cleaning supplies. A nail clipper and a brush with a few stray cottony brown hairs in its bristles in a drawer. A near-full bottle of citrusy flea shampoo forgotten in a corner of the baths. A noseprint, immortalized in fading ink, on the back of the sign leading to the outdoor baths. Old shirts, wrinkled and threadbare, in a pile tucked under his bedframe where no one can easily see.

 

By the time Yuuri wandered back out to the lobby, he felt every nerve crackle and fray and he hated it. Three months. How was he still this raw after three months? It wasn't like he'd been with Vicchan for the last half of his life. He was the family dog by the end, not Yuuri's. Yuuri lost his sole claim to him the moment he decided to train overseas. Even if Vicchan cried every time he heard Yuuri's voice, even if he'd practically knocked over Minako's laptop not even two weeks before the Grand Prix Finals because Yuuri was on screen and talking to him. Dogs got excited. That didn't mean they _meant_ it, not the way people do.

 

He needed to go. Practice, run, whatever. He was still too soft, now in more ways than one. Hopefully, Ice Castle was still open to him. Hopefully, Yuuko still worked there; even if she never saw him like she did Nishigori, at least she was _in reach_.

 

* * *

 

Victor is quiet throughout breakfast and warm-ups, enough to set Yuuri's nerves on edge. He's not mean about it, or even rude -- which, honestly, Yuuri's pretty sure he deserves -- but there's something about it that's unsettling. He's learned over the years of watching him from afar that Victor never loses his temper, maintains his calm, charming composure for cameras and fans no matter how busy he is, a true fairytale prince in the flesh. He's learned over the past two and a half months that Victor is a naturally bubbly person, much sillier and prone to hapless whining just this side of childish than Yuuri expected, but still maintains a bright smile throughout. Yuuri hadn't even known a person could cut to the quick so viciously with a chirp in their voice and a sparkle in their eye, but Victor manages it beautifully every time Yuuri screws up something he considers basic. Or, as most people would phrase it, "intermediate- to high-level professionals only".

 

(Yuuri should have never told Victor he's effectively skating half-blind because the idea of contacts freaks him out. Well, yes, he _should have_ , since Victor's coaching him and that's an important thing to know, but Yuuri's dignity sure doesn't care about that.)

 

That's what makes this quiet so _weird_. Yuuri will admit _he_ tends to clam up when he's stressed, trying to maintain some semblance of calm and emulate the grace he usually feels when he's alone on the ice. It doesn't always work, but it's done the job well enough. For Victor to look at him and say nothing, to glance at him throughout the morning with such a serious expression… Yuuri won't even pretend he can't tell it's about last night's episode. Anxiety nips at his heels, quickening his pace.

 

The rink's silence feels deafening despite their footsteps. Even Victor setting aside his tissue box echoes loud in Yuuri's ears. Their routine continues as normal despite the atmosphere, heavy as it is.

 

"Yuuri."

 

Yuuri's shoulders jerk, his hands freezing in place as he's removing the second of his skate guards to step on the ice. It's not the first time Victor's addressed him today, but the weight of what's unspoken makes each word colder than it should.

 

Victor, as he has all morning, maintains the lightness of his voice but the gravity of his expression, and Yuuri's stomach churns. "About what we discussed last night."

 

"I'm so sorry!" comes out faster than Yuuri expects, but he's been full to bursting with guilt all night and he's hit his limit. "I don't know what happened, I swear I'll stay away from Maccachin so it won't happen again, just--!" Yuuri cuts himself off, the unpleasant feelings still gnawing at his chest and gut. "I'm sorry. I really, really am."

 

Victor is quiet for a painfully long moment. Then, "No. You'll break poor Maccachin's heart if you do that."

 

Even with the rush of relief flooding his veins, Yuuri can't help but insist, "But what about you? He's your dog, I can't just--!"

 

"Yuuri." Victor's face softens for what seems like the first time today. "What's happened, happened. We just need to be sure it doesn't happen again. Okay?"

 

"Okay," Yuuri agrees, swallowing. Victor smiles, more like himself, and with a clap the atmosphere feels that much lighter.

 

"Now, what we discussed," Victor repeats. "Steps and spins only today. No jumps."

 

Yuuri blinks, bewildered. He does remember the conversation, yes, but… "Shouldn't I prioritize the jumps? They're what I have more trouble with."

 

"You _shouldn't_ neglect your strengths," Victor chirps back. "It won't do if you finally can land your jumps only to fall behind on everything else." Yuuri frowns, debates arguing. Victor raises a brow at him. "No jumps, Yuuri. I mean it."

 

Well, Yuuri wanted the Victor he knew back. He really should have guessed it'd be like this.

 

He skates from one end of the rink to the other and back again, running through drills and changing his footing as Victor cheerfully calls out different steps and spins. At some point he ends up tuning out even Victor's voice, the rink silent again but not oppressive. Victor won't put on music if he's this adamant about Yuuri not doing jumps today, Yuuri thinks with something that might be fond exasperation. Even if _Eros_ has a step sequence Yuuri's sure could use more work, the siren song of properly performing would be too much. With his free skate music still being written and recorded, he has no idea what kind of sequence would best fit that, either.

 

So, left to his own devices, Yuuri skates like he would if he were alone, reminding himself not to jump so Victor doesn't interrupt and scold him. He draws up his frustrations, his fears, his embarrassment, and casts them off in a camel spin. He dodges his personal demons with a set of counters and a loop. He moves and moves and doesn't stop until sweat trickles in rivulets down his face and neck, leeches into the fabric of his shirt.

 

"You're more honest when you lose yourself like this," Victor says finally, low, and Yuuri blinks as he refocuses on the here and now. "Which has left me wondering about something for some time now."

 

The serious glint from earlier darkens his eyes, and Yuuri feels the chill creep into his bones despite the lack of contact with the ice so far today. Victor's expression flickers, something like last night echoing in them.

 

"Yuuri," he presses on, "you weren't focused at all at the Finals, and that's what cost you your rightful score. That's not nerves or a lack of confidence. That's 'you were distracted by something bigger than all of that'."

 

Yuuri winces. He knows what Victor's asking, indirect as it is. He's just not sure if he can admit it to someone else, even Victor who probably would get it better than anyone else.

 

…Victor _would_ get it better than anyone else, though, wouldn't he? He barely acknowledges the fact Maccachin's too big to be a lapdog, carts him around like a large stuffed toy instead of an animal whose shoulders reach Victor's mid-thigh. He complains when Maccachin ignores him for Yuuri or his family, dotes on him without even a thought to the cost. If anyone would understand…

 

Yuuri takes a breath.

 

"Two days before the Grand Prix Finals," he says, slow and measured, "my dog died."

 

And just like that, it's like a dam's been broken open. Enough time's passed, the wound healed enough as to not bleed everywhere, but Yuuri still feels the ache in his chest pulse as he continues, "It's not an excuse, I know. I should've been able to put my feelings aside for two days after so much work, but I just-- I _couldn't_. I'd check my phone, and his picture would be there. I'd cross paths with people walking their dogs all the time. I'd find things when I was packing I'd been planning to send home. Everything reminded me of him and I…"

 

It's hard to describe the look on Victor's face when Yuuri finally looks at him, irritated at the sting in his eyes. It's similar to how he'd looked last night when Maccachin growled at him, but more winded, brittle. On anyone else, it would rub Yuuri the wrong way, make him think of the hushed murmurs of "poor guy" and "that's a shame" that had followed him out of the rink last December. On Victor, it's something Yuuri hasn't seen in anyone but his own family, and even then not quite to this extent.

 

"You were grieving," Victor says, soft. The words are sharp against Yuuri's raw heart, saline over an open wound. Still, despite that, Yuuri manages a weak nod.

 

There are questions and answers connecting in Victor's eyes, and Yuuri turns away, feeling his face burn. He hears Victor grit something out low and guttural in Russian, but the moment's gone before he can make sense of it.

 

"Would you show me him?" Victor asks. Yuuri, startled, turns back around. Victor's eyes on him are steadfast and-- not warm, no, it's too intense for _that_ , but earnest. "When we're done for today?"

 

For the briefest moment, Yuuri isn't thinking about how much the incense will burn at his nose or the glare of sun against the glass of the picture frame they keep on the shrine in his eyes. He's thinking of the tags, and in minute horror: _oh god is Vicchan's name written in kana or English!?_

 

"I still have his pictures on my phone," Yuuri offers instead, trying to will down his embarrassment. Any tags would be unreadable in them, and Yuuri knows for fact the folder is labeled 'Vicchan' and not 'Victor'. "You can look during break, if you want."

 

"I would never turn down pictures of cute dogs," Victor insists solemnly. Yuuri bites back a laugh at that, pretends for his own sake it doesn't sound a little watery.

 

* * *

 

When they do break, Victor hands him his phone and peers over his shoulder, chin brushing Yuuri's collar and his hands bracing on either side of Yuuri for balance. His platinum-blond hair is cool and silky against Yuuri's cheek as he coos over Vicchan. It makes Yuuri prouder than he's willing to admit.

 

"Tell me about him," Victor pleads, batting too-sweet blue eyes at Yuuri. And so Yuuri does, a little helplessly.

 

"Vicchan was kind of a brat," Yuuri admits, blushing. "We spoiled him. It was hard not to, since he was so cute and he knew it. He didn't have to do anything if he didn't want to." A memory floats across Yuuri's mind and he laughs. "One time, he stole a bag of crackers from the kitchen. He ended up dragging it off to my dad, like he'd open it for him!"

 

Victor smiles at Yuuri over his shoulder. "Maccachin would never let me know if he did something like that. He'd sooner eat the whole thing, bag and all."

 

Another picture, Vicchan soaked and put-out in a wash basin. A rare one with a younger Yuuri from before he left, just as soaked and annoyed. "He hated baths, too. He'd run and hide every time someone even mentioned the word, so we had to trick him every time he needed one so we wouldn't spend half an hour looking for him."

 

"You would think a dog who lived at a hot springs resort would be used to it," Victor muses. "Oh well."

 

"He'd sleep with me," Yuuri continues, a little wistful as he stops on one of the pictures of Vicchan enjoying Yuuri's gifts from overseas. "Almost every night, from the first day I got him to before I left for Detroit. Sometimes Mari would steal him because of a break-up and I'd let her, but he chose to stay with me." Victor shifts against his back. "My mom said he pretty much cried in my room for a week after I left. Every day he'd sit himself at the entrance like he was waiting for me to walk right in."

 

"He loved you," Victor murmurs low. Despite himself, Yuuri feels his chest flutter. "And from what I've heard so far, you still do."

 

"Of course I do," Yuuri says. He turns, slightly, and sees Victor already looking at him with those dangerous eyes, soft and tender and too, too blue. "He was mine, once."

 

Victor blinks. "Once?"

 

"He didn't really know me for the last half of his life," Yuuri sighs. It still hurts, admitting that, but not as much as he'd feared. Not as much as it used to when it was just a thought flickering in the back of his mind. "He still knew me, kind of, but not the way he did when I was there. He became the family's dog after I left, not just mine. I can't claim that he loved me more when I wasn't even there when he passed."

 

"They had to make the decision without you," Victor guesses. Yuuri shakes his head.

 

"Don't get me wrong." There are too many feelings fighting in him right now and Yuuri's not sure he can handle it. "I'm glad they were thinking of him first and not me. I'd rather have things happen as they did, knowing that at least Vicchan didn't suffer because I was selfish and wanted to see him one last time. Especially since even if I managed to perform well at the Finals, I doubt I'd have been able to medal anyway."

 

Victor pinches his side, not hard enough to hurt but plenty firm. Yuuri yelps, jerking away.

 

" _Confidence_ , Yuuri," Victor scolds. "You have skill. You have artistry. You're beautiful, and we are going to make sure the rest of the world knows that. Okay?"

 

Yuuri nods, reaching to rub his side. Victor's hand is still way too close, but he finds himself worrying more about another pinch than where that hand could wander. Actually, if he lets himself think, he's sure _that_ particular thought is much, much lower on his list of anxieties than he'd expect it to be.

 

 …Actually.

 

"Victor?" Yuuri is suddenly completely, _painfully_ aware of Victor sitting near flush against him, body like a furnace despite the chill of the building. His hands are curled around the edges of the bench, just above his knees and barely touching Yuuri's thighs. He still has his chin pillowed on Yuuri's shoulder, hair still tickling Yuuri's cheek, the deep Cupid's bow of his lips honey-sweet and the glacier blue of his eyes aglow with something that makes Yuuri's chest hurt for a very different reason.

 

Victor hums and reaches over, lazily swiping a fingertip across the screen to look at another picture of Vicchan like this is the most comfortable position in the world. Yuuri doesn't move, but he also doesn't freeze or try to lean away. Maybe it really is that comfortable.

 

(They're thousands of kilometers apart and thrice that away from their shared dorm in Detroit, but Yuuri can still hear Phichit blaring one of the sweeter songs from his _King and the Skater_ soundtrack. He only remembers one line, despite how often Phichit played the disc on repeat over the years:

 

_If there's nothing else I can say or do / Then let me stay here with you_

 

And if Yuuri didn't understand the sentiment before, he certainly does now.)

 

"Nothing," Yuuri says, and lets himself relax against Victor. It's probably a mistake. It'll probably come back to bite them both. Yuuri still feels that doubt nipping at him when he hears the strum of a guitar and sees, in his mind's eye, the caricature of a playboy in Victor's image strolling into town. "You want to hear more stories?"

 

"Of course," Victor agrees, and opens a blurry still of Vicchan attempting to cart off a bone arguably the size of his head. "Do tell, what did he plan on doing with that?"

 

Yuuri grins. "I can do you one better." He taps the still and it plays, a rare video in Yuuri's collection. He feels Victor gasp in delight as Vicchan's grousing around the bone just barely manages to be heard over the muffled laughter of Yuuri and his family, his mom's soft cheers and Mari's whining about having to clean the floors again.

 

It's the first time in months Yuuri's let himself watch this video again, the first time it hasn't felt so painful to even hear Vicchan and his silly little noises. He recognizes the high arc of his tail whipping around like a flag in high winds, the click of his nails against the floor as he scrambles to fit his mouth around the rare treat, how he eventually just rolls it onto Yuuri's socked toes and whines up at the camera with big brown eyes. It still sends a painful shock through Yuuri's veins, but Victor muffles his own laughter in Yuuri's shoulder and the ache eases just enough to ignore.

 

"He's so cute," Victor wheezes. "The two of you together would have killed me, goodness."

 

Yuuri snorts. "Please don't die. I don't want to be known as the man who killed Victor Nikiforov with cute."

 

Victor slumps against him. "Too late," he says, ignoring Yuuri's squawk of protest. "I can already see the light. It's calling me."

 

"Victor!" Yuuri groans, trying to push him back upright, but though Yuuri isn't physically a weakling Victor is nothing if not dramatic. "Come on, you're heavy! Get off!"

 

"You let Maccachin sleep on you and I can't even do this," Victor whines. "It's not fair. You only love me for my dog."

 

Yuuri feels his face inflame, but he doesn't argue the point nor tries to dissuade Victor's ideas of whatever their increasingly debatable relationship entails. Victor's whining increases.

 

Maybe Yuuri's not ready yet. Maybe he's still hurting too much from a loss far greater than his confidence and pride. But time's passed, and he finds it a little easier to breathe with each passing day. He can get back to that point he'd been at last year before everything fell apart, if only a little scarred from his experiences.

 

The only dog at home will be Victor's, with too-long legs and enough strength in them to be perfectly capable of knocking Yuuri off his feet instead of dancing around them. Maccachin, who insists on sleeping as physically close as possible despite the fact he can smother someone under his size and weight if he's not careful. Maccachin, who thinks that everything smaller than him is either A Plaything or Food with no in-between. His Vicchan might be gone, but Yuuri can't say he's alone anymore.

 

* * *

 

Two nights later, at approximately ten after midnight, Ketty sends her demo with an entirely too-amused line about how Yuuri owes her either three (3) bits of juicy, juicy gossip in regards to Victor, or a three-course meal at an upscale steakhouse no one in their group back in Detroit had been able to afford and Victor's grandmother's autograph. Whichever is easier.

 

Either way, it doesn't matter. He has a demo to get approved.

**Author's Note:**

> The songs referenced are:  
> -"I Have Confidence" from _The Sound of Music_ , which does in fact play at 70bpm. That pace is, more or less, a resting heartrate. Fun bonus fact: other songs at approximately 70bpm include: the Winnie the Pooh song, Don't Worry Be Happy, I Can't Help Falling in Love With You, _Bohemian Rhapsody_.  
>  -(Not an actual lyric, btw) "Something Wonderful" from _The King and I_ , which I have never watched and have no desire to. But hey, if "The King and the Skater" is the hodgepodge of genres it is ( _musical card games on ice_ , I can't even), then why not ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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